Chance Encounter
by Halcris
Summary: An accident and a chance encounter, togther, start off a chain of events that eventually leads Bodie and Doyle to a day on a golf course.


**Chance Encounter.**

The accident wasn't really Doyle's fault, though, with hindsight, he was inclined to blame himself.

He had just spent a concentrated hour, trailing a drugs courier, who, as was their frequent practice, had led him a merry dance round London's Underground, changing trains from one line to another, as a precaution against being followed. It was a credit to Doyle's skill that the man seemed at last to have given up continually looking over his shoulder.

However, to be sure, a changeover had been arranged at Earl's Court, and now operative 69, a particularly skilled female agent, was on the train with her eye on the man, and Doyle was off-duty.

He was with the small crowd going up the steps from the platform. His aim was to cross over to the other side to get a train back to where he had left his car. Perhaps it was because he was relaxed, maybe a little tired, that he was taken by surprise, as he reached the top of the stairs, and came face to face with a man about to descend.

The recognition was mutual, but the other man re-acted much more quickly. Both his hands shot out, palms up, to contact with Doyle's chest, and to deliver a very strong push.

Completely unprepared, Doyle tumbled backwards, and with a chain reaction, like that of toppling dominoes, fell down the steep stairs, taking several other passengers with him. Their startled yells rang in his ears, including the frightened shriek of a child. Unable to stop themselves, the tangled group rolled and tumbled down the steep stairs to the platform below.

Doyle fell awkwardly against the railing, almost knocking himself out. This and the effort to avoid hurting any of the others, meant that he was slow to apply the skill learnt early by every martial arts practitioner, that of how to fall to avoid injury

When the jumbled heap of bodies reached the hard concrete at the bottom of the steps, he landed awkwardly, his leg entangled with that of a rather portly gentleman. He felt a sudden fierce pain in his ankle, and knew he had done some damage.

The piled-up bodies began to disentangle themselves, with loud grumbles and some moans of pain. There was also the sobbing sound of a child, more frightened than hurt, he hoped.

Doyle tried to get to his feet, and almost fell over as his ankle gave way painfully beneath him. He managed to hobble a few steps to a nearby bench, and sank onto it gratefully, as he tried to think what to do next.

Uppermost in his mind was the need to get away from here quickly.

Already station staff were hurrying down the steps to see what help was needed. Soon there would be police and emergency first-aid services, and no doubt reporters. The last thing he wanted was the risk of his face and name in the papers.!

Besides, he had urgent information for his boss, Cowley.

Turning away, he pulled out his radio-phone and thumbed the button. Nothing! He gave it a shake and tried again, but there was no response. That was a blow. These instruments were pretty tough, but some of the inner components were delicate, and the fall had evidently damaged these.

Now what ? Then suddenly his luck changed.

A curious crowd had gathered at the top of the steps, held at bay by a station official, and a solitary policeman. In that crowd was a face he knew, one of their own. He would help him. But how could he attract his attention ? Thinking quickly, he put two fingers in the corners of his mouth and let out a piercing whistle, a signal that was often used. It worked !

The face in the crowd jerked in surprise, and then gazed more intently. To Doyle's great relief, Jax had spotted him.. He watched the man pull out his I.D. card, and have a quick word with the policeman, who immediately let him through. Then Jax was hurrying down the steps, and came to Doyle's side. He quickly told his colleague what had happened.

"I've got to get back to Headquarters fast," said Doyle urgently.

It was a bit of a struggle, but with Jax's strong arm to help him, he made his way up the steep steps, and out to the main concourse.

"We'd better take a taxi, that will be quickest," said Jax. "My car is too far away."

"So is mine," said Doyle ruefully, "a long way away."

It didn't take them very long to get back to base. Fortunately the lift was available to take them up to Cowley's office. They tapped on the door and were told to enter. Cowley looked up from the papers he was reading, and was surprised as he saw how much support Jax was giving Doyle. But he re-acted quickly, and pulled a chair over. Doyle subsided onto it gratefully.

"What happened ?," Cowley demanded. "Are you injured ?"

"I'll explain in a minute," replied Doyle. "But most important news first. I've just seen Carlos Spinetti !."

"Are you sure ?," exclaimed Cowley incredulously. It wasn't that he doubted Doyle's word, he knew him too well. But the man he had named was a notorious and very expensive 'hitman', with a world-wide reputation. C.I.5 had encountered him before but he had escaped them.

"I'm sure !," responded Doyle. "I met him head-on, as close as I am to you." He went on to explain to his boss exactly what had happened, and related the details of the resultant accident

"But I know it was him," went on Doyle, "for we caught him once, just after he shot that Italian diplomat."

"I remember," said Cowley, "but he got away later that day, and we lost him." He looked thoughtful for a moment and frowned. "That adds a complication," he added.

"How ?," said Doyle, not immediately understanding.

"Well, he evidently knew you," explained his boss, "If not by name, he knew you were C.I.5. Hitmen are always very cautious, but that will make him even more so. He'll be difficult to find."

"What can we do ?," asked Doyle.

"It would help if we knew who he was after," mused Cowley. "Right," he said, suddenly decisive. "First you go and get that injury dealt with. Then you can start checking who might be a likely target. I've got some urgent phone calls to make."

Doyle, helped by Jax, went to see their on-call doctor. The skilled man prodded, pressed and manipulated the injured limb, causing Doyle to wince frequently. Then he gave his verdict. "Nothing broken," he declared, "but it's badly sprained. I'll strap it up for you. It's affected your knee too, so you're going to have a stiff leg for a while. Rest it as much as you can, and no driving till I say so."

Bodie had been out all morning, working with a less experienced man, showing him the ropes. But the man had been responsive, and quick to learn, so Bodie was feeling quite pleased with himself. He reported in, and then went to look for his mate. He found him in one of the smaller offices, sitting in a chair, sideways on to the table, with his foot up on an improvised footstool, a box with a cushion on it, and studying a pile of folders next to him.

Bodie surveyed his partner enquiringly. "What have you been up to ?," he demanded.

"I had an encounter," began Doyle.

"And she played up rough ?," said Bodie teasingly.

"Give over, Bodie," snapped Doyle. "This is serious." And he went on to explain what had happened.

Bodie's mood changed quickly. This was serious. "Spinetti, eh !," he said. "Who's he after ?."

"Goodness knows," replied Doyle wearily. He waved his hand at the pile of folders. "Any of these, or none of them. Take your pick. Your guess is as good as mine."

Bodie looked more closely at his friend. He looked tired and somewhat stressed. I guess he's in some pain too, he thought to himself.

"By the look of it," he said, "you won't be driving for a bit. Where's your car ?."

"Jax is taking care of that," replied Doyle. "Someone's taking him out to retrieve his, and then they're going on to get mine – it's some way out, and they'll bring it back here. But I'll need a chauffeur for a while."

"Anything to oblige," said Bodie jokingly, his light manner concealing his real concern for his friend.

The papers ran the story for a day, showing pictures of some of the , there had been no serious injuries, though some were suffering from shock. But as Doyle had, with the help of Jax, managed to escape before the reporters had arrived, he was not involved No-one seemed to have registered the real cause of the trouble, and so it was written off as an unfortunate accident.

Bodie brought in the newspaper and showed it to Doyle, who was with Cowley in his office, conferring with him over the lists of possible intended targets.

"Perhaps he's just waiting for this to all die down," Bodie said hopefully.

"No way," said Doyle decisively. "He knows I recognised him. That's why he re-acted so quickly. Faster than me," he added ruefully. "No, he's had a warning; he'll be doubly on his guard."

Spinetti had a high reputation in his profession. Although his price was high, he was very efficient. This was a worry, as unless he was soon caught and neutralised, or his target identified and protected, the victim was already as good as dead.

And their failure would rankle bitterly with all concerned.

And indeed, as Cowley had surmised, Spinetti, one of a breed who always took the strictest precautions before acting, seemed to have 'gone to ground'. In spite of extensive searches and enquiries, nothing had been heard of him as yet. Which did give them a little time to try to work out the probable target, but wasn't really that much help as the field was so wide.

The frustration of this was beginning to get to all of them.

This was why Cowley seized on a tiny hint that he picked up, when, quite by chance, he accidentally eavesdropped in his exclusive club. Although it was slight, it was enough to give him something to set his top team investigating.

He had finished his lunch, and had retired, with his coffee, to a high-backed settle in the corner of the lounge, where a near-by window gave him a view over the river. He was hoping that the placid vista would help him think. His peace was disturbed as a group of men came in and settled themselves in the alcove behind him. Although he didn't count them as personal friends, he did know who they were. And, because of his high security clearance, he also knew what they were working on, - a very special committee which would bring about significant changes in several Governmental areas, very 'hush-hush'. It was being 'chaired' and led by Sir Henry Cartaret, a forceful energetic man with very good ideas, and powerful in many circles of influence. Because of Cowley's high-backed chair, they hadn't realised that anyone was there, and were talking freely.

"This is going to take longer than we thought," remarked one man as he settled into his place.

"That's due to Bryce," said another. "He's being very obstructive, isn't he ? He quibbles over nearly everything Sir Henry suggests."

"Yes, he does," agreed another. "It's as if he deliberately wants to delay things. I can't think why ! There are plenty of people who would like to see us fail, I know, but I don't see how that would be of any benefit to him."

"Do you know," put in another thoughtfully, "You may be right. He said something very odd to me yesterday. He said "There's no need to rush – anything might happen."

"What's he expecting to happen ?,"asked another, and added facetiously, "Is he hoping Sir Henry will have a heart attack and drop dead ?"

"Hardy likely !," rejoined his associate. "The man's as fit as a fiddle. Plays golf regularly, and tennis too, I think."

But that last but one remark had caused the hairs on the back of Cowley's neck to rise. Had he inadvertently stumbled on the identity of Spinetti's intended victim ? He knew how important the work of this committee was, and that there were lots of foreign agencies who didn't want it to succeed. Sir Henry's leadership was a vital part of the work. His death would undoubtedly achieve the aim of stopping it, for he was the driving force that would get it through.

And how was this man Bryce involved ? At least that would give his men something to investigate.

He got up quietly and moved away stealthily. But the group were so busy with their post-luncheon drinks, that his exit went un-noticed. He hurried back to his office, and got his secretary to find out who was available.

Bodie was out on an assignment with Murphy, but Doyle, confined to the office because of his injury, was working in Records. He summoned him to his office, and quickly gave him his next job.

"Find out all you can about Rupert Bryce," he ordered. Still limping slightly, Doyle hurried off to do some detailed checking. Cowley sat down and got on with some of the paper-work which constantly piled up on his desk. Twenty minutes later, there was a tap at his door, and Doyle returned, carrying a folder. Accepting the seat thoughtfully offered by his boss, he began to relay its contents.

"Rupert John Bryce," he began, "Junior Cabinet Minister, aged 58. Widower, his wife died 10 years ago. They had two children, a boy and a girl, both now adult. He has a large place, close to a village in Berkshire. I haven't any details on that, but as I can't drive yet, and Bodie's out, I've sent Bailey and Travis down there to have a look." Cowley nodded his approval of this resourcefulness.

"He's also got a small flat in London, where he stays when he's working," continued Doyle. "I've got the address."

At this point there was a tap at the door and Bodie joined them. Doyle handed him the folder, and he had a quick glance through it, while their boss explained to them both just what had aroused his interest in this particular man.

"His behaviour does seem a little odd," commented Doyle. "It's as if he knew something was going to happen."

"That's what I thought," agreed Cowley.

"He's causing a delay," said Bodie thoughtfully, "but I don't see what he has to gain from it. Unless he's being paid to do it," he mused.

"Or forced into it !," exclaimed Doyle suddenly.

"That's a thought," said Cowley, "So I suggest you pair go and find out."

A bit of stealth and secrecy gave them information about Bryce's flat. It seemed it was very basic, as he only used it as a place to sleep when he was working in London. He never entertained there, nor had any visitors.

"Perhaps we'll learn more when Travis and Bailey get back," suggested Doyle.

The two agents he had sent, had found the name of the local inn in the village nearest Bryce's place in Berkshire, and had booked an over-night stay there, posing as two travelling sales reps. Experience had taught them, that talking to the 'regulars', and the bar staff, if friendly, was often the best way to find out about a local celebrity. In this case their judgement was 'spot-on'. They gained a lot of information, and the next day returned to base to relay it all to Doyle. He added it to his folder, collated it neatly, and then, collecting Bodie, went to Cowley's office to reveal it all to them.

"It's a big old manor house, called 'Downlands'," he began, "with a fair amount of grounds. What used to be the Lodge has been converted and extended into a farm, incorporating some of Bryce's land for paddocks and storage barns, which come quite near the main house. It's run by his daughter and her husband, so it's all in the family. The son was married, but is now divorced. He gained custody of his 2 year-old son, but as he's often away on business, the boy lives with his nanny and a live-in housekeeper at his grandfather's home. Apparently Bryce dotes on the boy, as do his aunt and uncle. But," went on Doyle, "just recently something has arisen to give the locals something to gossip about.

"Sounds Interesting," commented Bodie, earning himself a glare from his boss for interrupting. Doyle smiled to himself, but went on.

"Apparently, about a week ago, two men arrived, and appear to have taken up residence, one in the house and one at the farm. They are big and very tough-looking, but they are not farm-workers. And whenever the nanny, who is only a young girl, brings the boy into the village in his push-chair, to the shops or the play park, one of them is with her."

"And they said she doesn't look very happy about it," added Bodie.

Cowley looked intently at his two best operatives. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking ?," he demanded.

"I believe we are," said Doyle. "Pressure on Bryce by threatening his grandchild !"

"It does seem possible," agreed Cowley.

Doyle was looking thoughtful. "The thing is," he said, "Does Bryce know what's going to happen ?. Or has he just been told to cause delay ?."

"Well, if that was his aim, he's succeeded," declared Cowley. "I've just heard that the committee that should have concluded its work this week, has had to adjourn, and will re-convene again next week."

"What about Sir Cartaret," asked Doyle, "Has he been warned ?."

"Yes, I saw him myself," said Cowley. He frowned as he remembered his confrontational meeting with the dynamic man. "I had a very difficult task, trying to convince him that he might be in danger. I'm still not sure he believes me."

Doyle and Bodie shared a look. It sounded as if their boss had met a man as forceful as himself, and wasn't sure he'd come out on top. "Still," went on Cowley, "I had a word with his security man, he's a very sensible fellow. He's going to get extra men, and step up their watch on him."

"Bryce will be going home for the week-end, he always does," said Doyle thoughtfully. "It might be interesting to see how he behaves with his visitors."

"Good idea," said Cowley, "You pair get down there, and see what you can find out."

Bodie and Doyle hurried off to make the necessary arrangements.

"We might benefit from a bit of eaves-dropping," suggested Bodie as they went. "I'll collect some 'bugs' and listening equipment."

He drove them down to the Berkshire village, on the outskirts of which was the property they were interested in. They managed to secure a suitable room in the same hostelry as their men had used. They had got their bearings as they drove into the village, for they had passed the farm, and the drive entrance to Bryce's place, and had slowed down enough to have a good look. They had recognised the number plate of one of the cars standing in the drive, so they knew that Bryce was already home. They noted the number of the other car alongside it, and called it in for a check. That came back with a name they didn't know, and an address in Bermondsey. No doubt someone would follow that up for them.

As they were in the last days of autumn, it began to get dark fairly early, which was quite useful for their plans. They had a pub meal, very pleasant, and then told the barman they were going for a walk before bed. Fortunately for Doyle's injury, Bryce's place was within easy walking distance, so they collected their gear from their room and set off. It wasn't long before they were creeping carefully through a shrubbery towards a lighted window.

Doyle found a convenient vantage point under a large tree surrounded by rhododendron bushes. He could see both the window and the front door from there. He began to set up the listening equipment they had brought, while Bodie crept forward, as stealthily as a cat, with a special device ready in his hand. As he reached up to place it on a window-pane, he risked a quick glance into the room. Then he retreated rapidly to join his partner.

"Bryce is there," he reported, "with his daughter and her husband." He had recognised them from the useful pictures Travis had taken for them. "It looks as if they've just had dinner," he continued. "The house-keeper, Mrs. Barnes was just bringing in a tray with coffee cups."

"Right," whispered Doyle, as he slipped the headphones on, and gently tweaked the tuning knobs.

The first voice in his ears was that of the daughter. "How long is this going on, Dad ?," she asked in a worried tone.

"It should be over soon," replied Bryce. "I've done what they asked, that is ensured that we didn't finish the work this week."

"What's it all about, sir ?," came the voice of the younger man.

"I wish I knew !," exclaimed Bryce. "But I had to do it. They were threatening William."

"Is he all right ?," asked the daughter.

"Yes," said Bryce, "Millie is very protective. She's tried to keep things as normal as possible, - she's a good girl."

"She's terrified of those men," said his daughter. "They scare me too," she added, "and Mrs Barnes, - she hates them."

"They should go soon, I hope ," said Bryce. "They said they would leave after the weekend."

Doyle was avidly taking in all this information. It was telling him two things. Firstly, it seemed as if Bryce didn't know what it was all in aid of, and secondly, it sounded as if something was going to happen soon, this weekend. He would need to report this in, as quickly as possible, so that appropriate action could be taken.

But it wasn't going to be that straight-forward !

They had been so intent on what they were doing, that they hadn't noticed that the rustling noises in the bushes behind them were rather more than those caused by the stronger breeze that had sprung up.

And so they were taken off guard when two dark shapes suddenly moved and descended on them. The man who launched himself onto the back of the crouching Bodie, had a heavy cosh in his hand, and used it effectively. Bodie went down like a log, and sprawled on the ground, out cold. Doyle was faring a little better with his opponent, until his luck ran out. Dodging the man's ferocious assault neatly, he caught his foot on the exposed root of the large tree. Unfortunately, it was the leg he had injured before, and the sudden pain as he wrenched it again, almost took his breath away. It gave his assailant his chance, and in a few moments he had the upper hand.

With one arm twisted behind his back in a fierce half-nelson, and a handful of hair held in a tight fist, Doyle was helpless in the grip of a man considerably bigger than he was. The added complication was that the other thug, who had felled his mate so quickly, now had a gun in his hand.

"Snoopers, Bert," the man exclaimed. "What do we do now ? Shall we get rid of them ?"

"Steady on, Santos," replied the other. "I know we're being well paid for the job we're doing down here, but it's not enough to cover murder !"

"What then ?," demanded Santos. The moonlight revealed him as a dark swarthy type. To Doyle's eyes he looked pretty dangerous and not too stable.

"I know," said Bert, equally big, but not so menacing, "We'll tie 'em up and leave them in one of the barns. They'll be found eventually, and besides, after tomorrow, it won't matter."

Bert took his hand from Doyle's hair, and shoved him towards the prone form of Bodie.

"Help carry him," he ordered, producing his own gun. Doyle had entertained a faint hope that his mate had been lying 'doggo', and would now take action, but found this was not the case. So he was made to help Santos lift the considerable dead weight of his friend, and to carry him through the garden pathways towards the bulky outline of one of the barns. It was a tiring exercise, for he found he was limping badly again, with every step painful.

The barn was stacked with bales of hay. A couple of these had lost their tight bindings, and had spilled out on the stone floor of the barn. They laid Bodie down there. Bert pushed Doyle down beside him. Very quickly the two thugs got some rope and tied them both up. Because the night had been getting chilly, both Bodie and Doyle had had their windcheaters fastened right up, so the fact that both were carrying guns had not registered with their attackers.

That's good, thought Doyle, one less problem.

The two big men shut the heavy doors and left. It was dark in the barn, but not completely so, for air vents near the roof were big enough to allow the light of the moon to shine in.

Doyle was a bit concerned that Bodie had shown no signs of coming round. I hope he's not badly hurt. But I'll see to that in a minute, he thought. First task was to free himself. He tried straining against the ropes but they were very tight. After some squirming, he managed to extricate, from the back pocket of his jeans, the cigarette-lighter he always carried, although he didn't smoke. He turned it carefully in his hands until it was in the right position. Then he flicked it on, to attack the binding ropes. It was a bit of a tedious task. His fingers began to ache, and his wrists felt a little scorched, but he persisted doggedly.

Then, at last, he felt the 'give' in his bonds, as the charred strands began to weaken. Judging that he'd done enough, he gave a final jerk to snap the last bits. It worked, but, unluckily, the movement also jerked the lighter out of his tired hands. It fell upon the straw he was lying on, which immediately burst into flames. He rolled over, away from the blaze, and as quickly as he could, freed his feet so that he could stand up.

He grabbed a nearby pitchfork, and forked the blazing straw, so perilously near Bodie, away from the main pile, spreading it out on the cold stone floor, and stamping each bit out as fast as he could. The lighter was still blazing, so he grabbed it to snap it shut, burning his fingers as he did so, for it was very hot. He swore mildly under his breath at the discomfort as he found a clear space of concrete to stand it on to cool down.

As he turned back, a cool voice addressed him. "Having fun ?," it asked.

Bodie was awake again, and watching him with some amusement.

Checking that he'd dealt with every scrap of burning straw, Doyle hurried to untie his mate. He was quick, even though his finger-tips were painful.

Bodie got stiffly to his feet, and rubbed his head. "What did he hit me with ?," he complained bitterly, but Doyle wasn't listening.

"We've got to get back to base," Doyle said urgently, "To tell Cowley that something's on for tomorrow."

The barn door was shut but not locked. They eased it open carefully, and emerged into the night again, keeping a wary eye out for their previous assailants. But there was no sign of them, and soon they were out on the road back to the village, in a hurry to reach the communication equipment securely locked in their room.

It was then that the moonlight revealed to Bodie that his friend was limping rather badly.

"Have you hurt your ankle again ?," he demanded.

"I'm afraid so," admitted Doyle, "I wrenched it on a tree root, I think"

Bodie surveyed his mate, and his slow progress. "Would you like a 'piggy-back' ?," he asked.

"No, I would not !," snapped a tired Doyle, his dignity affronted by the suggestion. He limped a little further, and then relented. "But I wouldn't mind an arm to lean on," he said contritely. This was quickly supplied, and with its help, the pair of them made their way back to the comfort of their room.

As Bodie set up the clever communication device, complete with 'scrambler', Doyle ran some cold water into the sink, and eased his painful fingers and wrists. Soon they were reporting back to Cowley in London. Though it was the early hours of the morning he was at home, but not in his bed.

"So," he said, having listened intently to their report. "Something's set up for tomorrow, is it ?" His mind was working overtime, as he considered the implications of this.

"I might have known !," he exclaimed suddenly. "The golf-course !."

"Golf-course ?," queried Bodie in a puzzled tone.

"Yes," said their boss, "It's Sir Henry. He's insisting on playing golf tomorrow. Apparently it's the club's Open Tournament, in which he always does well. In spite of all our suspicions and warnings, he refuses to forgo it. But," he added grimly, "he'll wear a bullet-proof vest, even if I have to force it on him personally !."

The listening pair exchanged a grin as they heard this. Knowing their boss as they did, they could well believe he would do just that. He wasn't an especially big man, but the power of his personality was tremendous. Right now he was thinking furiously.

"I'd better get some arrangements in hand," he mused, already planning his force's plan of action.

"You pair get back here as fast as you can," he ordered. "I'll need every man I have, on duty."

Bodie and Doyle packed up their stuff, and roused the rather disgruntled landlord to settle their bill, even though they weren't staying. The equipment they had left in the shrubbery was temporarily abandoned. They couldn't risk another encounter with the two 'heavies', who probably didn't know as yet that their prisoners had escaped. The equipment could be retrieved later. As for the two men, they had a car number and address for them. And in any case, they were only small fry, who could be picked up when they returned to London.

The important thing was the protection of Sir Henry, and that wasn't going to be easy, if a busy Golf Tournament was the venue for the action

Bodie was driving, of course, as they made all speed, in the early hours of the morning, back towards London and the task that awaited them there. Glancing sideways, after about 10 minutes travelling, Bodie wasn't at all surprised to see that Doyle was fast asleep beside him. He rather envied his mate's ability, learnt during his time in the police, to relax and sleep easily whenever the opportunity arose. But I guess he needs it, thought Bodie. He's had a busy, and painful, evening, and he's not quite on top form at the moment.

Although it was still pretty early in the morning when they got back, Cowley was already in his office, and relaying orders in all directions. He asked them to repeat their report, and listened intently to every detail.

"There's nothing for you to do immediately," he said. "I've got it all in hand. We'll be on that golf-course in force !." He surveyed the two men in front of him.

"Go and get some breakfast," he ordered the pair. "And see to that leg, Doyle ! I'll need you both later." They did as ordered and felt better after a meal in the canteen, and some strong coffee. Then Doyle went, in some trepidation, to see the duty-doctor. He strapped the ankle up again, jokingly berating his patient for undoing all his good work.

But, unusually for him, Doyle was not in the mood for teasing. He was a bit worried that the doctor's report to Cowley, would mean his dismissal from the current action, and he very much wanted to be part of it. He would have been even more concerned if he'd heard the phone conversation that ensued as soon as he'd left the room.

"Cowley," said the doctor, "It's about Doyle. By rights I ought to pull him completely off-duty for a few days, to give that injury a chance to heal."

"I need him," interrupted Cowley. "I need his experience and expertise. We've a big task on in a few hours."

"I know that," replied the doctor, "Which is why I haven't side-lined him. But if he injures that leg again, he could end up permanently disabled. Can't you find him a sitting-down job ?"

"We don't do many of those," replied Cowley grimly. "But thank you for your warning." He thought seriously about the man's words. Suddenly, his clever mind had a minor brain-wave !

So it was, when Bodie and Doyle reported to him at the base he'd set up at the course club-house, that Doyle found himself assigned to a golf-buggy, with a caddie who knew the course intimately to drive him. His orders were to patrol anywhere round the course, to check on the men, and to report if he spotted anything suspicious.

As it was an open tournament there were a great many people about. There were all the regular club members, plus a considerable number of visiting golfers. It had been arranged that they would go out intervals in foursome play. There were also a great many spectators, looking forward to an entertaining day. Although this added a great responsibility of concern for public safety, it also was a help, as it meant that Cowley was able to deploy his men among the crowds, without attracting undue attention.

He had rustled up every operative he could, including a fair number of very competent female officers. At the briefing he had explained the situation clearly to them all and warned them to be very vigilant, for Spinetti was a very devious, cunning and ruthless man. He wouldn't, if the occasion arose, give a second thought to caution about innocent spectators. He had shown pictures of Spinetti, as he had last looked. And to finish, he had emphasised that, if it was at all possible, the hitman was to be taken alive, so that they could find out who had put up the money for his expensive services. But of paramount importance was the safety of Sir Henry Cartaret.

His group was scheduled at number 6, so the majority of the protective agents were with the crowd of spectators following that match. But there were also quite a few prowling through the 'out of bounds' woods that bordered the course.

The tournament started promptly at 10 o'clock, with the various groups setting off at 10 minute intervals.

At first a little doubtful as to what his job would entail, Doyle was now very pleased with what he was doing. His skilful driver had taken him confidently all round the course. He had registered the positions of all the C.I.5 men and women, mingling with the crowds. These were relying on concealed hand-guns, so as not to alarm the public. He had been all round the perimeter too, calling up the more heavily armed men prowling watchfully through the woods that bordered a lot of the course. He was satisfied that all were alert and ready.

He instructed his driver to take him back, to be nearer group 6, and they were now moving towards the green of hole 9. The first five groups had gone through here and were moving on. Sir Henry's foursome had all teed off, and they were now on their approach shots to the area.

This hole, the furthest out, was one where the woods alongside were thick, and pretty close to the playing area, so Doyle scanned the trees and bushes carefully.

Suddenly, he spotted a flash of light behind the flag waving in the breeze. It was only there for a moment, but it could have been the reflection of sunlight on the lenses of binoculars.

With one hand he pulled the steering round to point the driver in the direction he wanted to go. With the other he thumbed his radio-phone, and alerted the nearest men, and called Cowley too, suggesting he had a possible lead.

The slow-moving cart was now on the edge of the green, and moving towards the area where he had seen the flash of light. Then there came another flash, a different one, and a bullet 'pinged' off one of the stays of the cart, and tore into the canvas roof. Startled, the driver inadvertently jerked at the steering, hit a slope wrongly, and toppled the light-weight golf-buggy over.

This time, alert and unhampered, Doyle was able to roll easily with the fall, and quickly came up to a kneeling crouch, his gun steady in both hands. A man broke cover right in front of him, flushed from his cover by the advancing alerted agents.

It was Spinetti - no doubt about that !

With his gun steadily aimed, Doyle's every instinct was to do as he had been trained to do, and shoot to kill. But he remembered his boss's last instructions. With a great effort of will, for every re-action in him wanted to rid the world of this merciless killer, he pulled his aim down and took Spinetti in the legs, bringing him crashing to the ground.

The two men from the woods came charging up, and were quickly joined by agents from among the somewhat startled spectators. Spinetti was quickly secured, and deprived of his weapons.

Another buggy came racing up, as fast as the little vehicle could manage, and Cowley was on the scene, ordering Spinetti to be removed under the closest guard. If questioned long enough by the right people, he would eventually reveal his backers.

Turning towards where Doyle was standing, he took in the fallen buggy, which the caddie, being happily unhurt, was being helped to right.

"You haven't hurt that leg again, have you ?," he demanded, his brusqueness masking his concern.

"No, sir," replied Doyle instantly.

"Good," said Cowley gruffly, "But as soon as we get back, you see that doctor again, and do what he tells you." he snapped. "My orders !."

"Yes, sir," said Doyle meekly, smiling inwardly. He knew better that to argue with his boss when he had that steely glint in his eye.

But as Cowley turned away, he threw a few more words his way. "You did very well," he said, and strode off.

Doyle exchanged a grin with Bodie, who had just arrived in another golf-cart. Such appreciation was rare from their fierce boss.

Bodie surveyed his mate. He looked all right, but that leg still merited attention, it hadn't had time yet to heal properly. He resolved to keep an eye on him, though he knew his friend didn't take kindly to being fussed over.

So, indicating the waiting buggy, He sketched a mocking bow, and said. "Your carriage awaits, sir !."

"Thank you, my man," said Doyle, responding in climbed into the cart and settled back in his seat, content that a good result had been achieved, and ordered grandly, "Home, James, and don't spare the horses."


End file.
